Twenty Years
by myheadsgonenumb
Summary: On the night marking two decades since it all began, Angel visits the Hyperion and reflects on love, loss, friendship and the nature of eternity.


**Twenty Years**

_October 5th 2019: Los Angeles_

Twenty years. Some days it still felt like it was only yesterday - that he could reach out and touch it; a time not gone by but here and now. His friends, his family, his home - his world. Some days he would wake up and be surprised he wasn't in his old room at the hotel, and some days he'd stumble across a strange demon or an archaic manuscript and think '_I'll have to ask Wes…'_ and then he'd remember. Some days it felt like yesterday - but really it was twenty years. Two whole decades. And some days he would feel that aching time span open wide like a chasm at his feet, separating him from the people he loved and the life he had lived.

It was Doyle who had started it all - his first friend, his first soldier down. He would never forget that night he had come home from the bar and found the Irishman waiting. _'You don't smell human.'_

_'Well that's a bit rude - as it happens I'm very much human ... on my mother's side.'_

That was just after he'd left Buffy. He'd been so lost. His unbeating heart had felt like it was torn, shredded in his chest. The blood-lust - after drinking her in the summer - had been unbearable. And the loneliness, after three years in the arms of the woman he loved, to be all alone in the world once more, had been suffocating. He had been rudderless, cast adrift and pretending he was sailing - when really he was sinking like a stone; fighting the demons, saving the damsels … and inching ever closer to giving into his cravings.

But Doyle had stopped all that right away. He'd handed him a mission and sent him out to get into people's lives, shown him how to start caring, shown him how to stop craving. And he had been a friend, something he'd never had before - a true friend. Doyle had understood him, helped him open up - supported him down that rocky path to redemption. They had been headed there together - they both had something to atone for. He would fight - and Doyle would keep score - and maybe one day they would get there, together. Or that was the plan - until Doyle went on ahead.

It was Doyle's first vision - that first botched mission - that had led him to the party that night. And she had been there. Cordelia. _Cordy_. He could still remember - like it was yesterday - that sudden surprise as he heard her familiar voice through the crowd, the genuine pleasure he had felt at seeing someone he knew, here in the big city. It had been an almost human feeling - that feeling of comfort he got from familiarity - any familiarity. Even Cordelia. Just something that made sense in this strange and lonely world. He should have known then just what she would come to mean to him. But how could he know the future?

He couldn't help but smile, even all these years later, as he pictured her - in her red dress - putting a brave face on; hiding her poverty, pretending everything was going great, when really she was just as desperate as he was - sinking just as fast. And he smiled as he remembered her words to him: '_are you still … grrr?' _she had made her fingers into claws and wrinkled her face to resemble a vampire. And he had stared at her in disbelief that she was still such a ditz. '_Yeah - you know there's not actually a cure for that.' _

And that was the crux of the matter. The nub. The reason he was still there - and they were all gone. He was eternal. His family was … not. For all their promises to be with him every step of the way, they had fallen by the wayside one by one - given in to their own mortality. And he was powerless to do anything but watch - feel the pain as he lost them, find other people to love … and then lose them as well. If you lived long enough, then you lost everybody - in the end - and he had lived a long, long time. And it didn't stop hurting. Time healed all wounds - except crushing loneliness. And loneliness could only be abated by gathering friends around himself … and then he lost them and was back to the pain, until the pain faded and he was left once more with the loneliness. And there was no way to break from that cycle.

But for a time - he had had a family. The three of them, in their little office, working the mission, helping the hopeless. They had, all three of them, been sinking, one way or another - but they had buoyed each other up. Became champions in each other's company - found reasons to live - and laugh - and hope.

And then Doyle was gone. Just like that. Nothing but a videotape to prove he had ever been there. Nothing but the tape - and the visions now passed to Cordy. And he and Cordy had clung to each other through the pain, grown closer by their shared loss. It was the first … it would not be his last. But that first loss, his first friend gone forever, whilst he struggled on - that had cut him deep in his heart.

But then there was Wesley. Poor Wes - frightened of his own shadow, so afraid of everything he _couldn't_ do that he took no time to appreciate everything he _could_. But Wes had expertise that himself and Cordelia could never have, he had links to the demon world, he had even learned to stop falling over his own feet. Inside the family, Wesley had finally learned to have confidence in himself, in his abilities and his knowledge. And he had become their leader - and proved time and again that he was the strongest one of them all, that he would do whatever it took to protect the people he loved. He would stare down the barrel of the hard decisions, unflinching, uncompromising - and carry them through. He had gone on such a journey - the man he became was so far from that pompous twit who had arrived in his motorbike leathers pretending to be a hard man. Like Cordy, like Doyle - Wes had come to the family whilst he was drowning, and grabbed onto their life raft and learned how to swim.

And the three of them had fought side by side - growing stronger and better, case by case. And even though the evil grew - so did their family. For a few months after Wesley joined the team, they met Gunn.

Gunn had been drowning, as well - though too proud to admit it. Homeless, hungry, scared - leading kids into a battle they couldn't win. His own sister had been turned vampire and he had been forced to stake her himself - and it was with this grief still raw that Gunn had allied with the family. Always good for a fight, loyal to a fault and smart to boot - he had been a warrior for the cause, the muscle to back up Wesley's brain.

And then there was Lorne - he had flitted in and out of their lives at first, an acquaintance - and then a friend - who they could go to, call upon for help or advice. But when they had caused his club to be destroyed for the third time, he threw the towel in and joined them fully. A shoulder to lean on, a spiritual guide … Lorne had given them a strength they hadn't even realised they were missing. Filled a space they hadn't realised was vacant. But once he was on the team, the family could never be whole again without him.

And it was Lorne who led them to Fred. '_Handsome man saved me from the monsters.' _Fred - a literal genius - a girl with the strength to keep herself safe and hidden in a cave in a hell dimension for five years, and come home - and learn how to adjust. He remembered how she had been when they first met - in her burlap sack - lost and alone and completely crazy … she had pulled it all back together, found herself again, found a place for herself in their team and healed her heart with the mission.

And then there was Connor … and then, so quickly, Connor was gone. And what came back … it had been twenty years, but he could still remember the soft skin of his infant son, what it felt like to hold him in his arms, his scent - that world of possibilities, and love like he had never known possible. The love had never gone away - but the angry, messed up teenage boy that replaced the infant - the pain that couldn't be made right - it could never be the same. Nothing could ever make up for what was lost. Connor - his Connor - was gone forever.

And then so was Cordy. Taken away, violated, used up and then tossed aside. She'd been his everything - for so long - his strength, his guidance, his courage. She'd healed his wounds, she kept him on the mission - she'd even laughed at his jokes. But the visions were killing her - and she was too brave, too strong, too _stupid_ to tell anyone. It had been twenty years, he still couldn't quite forgive that she'd not told him the trouble she was in. But then the writing had been on the wall for some time - the pain of the visions had been getting worse - and he just hadn't noticed. Hadn't let himself notice - because he wanted to believe, so badly, that everything would be OK - forever. But the truth was, he had started to lose Cordy the day he lost Doyle - it just took a bit longer in her case.

But the day came - and Cordy was gone and then, the losses were piling up thick and fast - because right behind her was Fred. Hollowed out from the inside, her soul burned up in the fires of resurrection - and then her shell being walked around by the demon that had killed her. Illyria - an old one - clawing her way back into life by taking Fred's. And they had grieved - they had all grieved, so much loss - so much guilt. '_Bad things always happen here.' _

Wesley had never been the same after that. He had drunk too much - he was drowning again - and sometimes, all these years later, in the dark of the night - in the lonely hours before dawn - he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Wesley had let himself die in that last battle. If he could have been quicker or cleverer - done something differently to save himself - only he hadn't the heart to. Loss piled on loss - four soldiers down. And more to come.

Lorne had walked away that same night. Told him he wouldn't be in the alley - wouldn't come for the fight - asked that he not look for him. Of course he had looked for him - had checked he'd survived… but he hadn't made contact, had respected Lorne's wish to disappear. He didn't know where the demon was now - but he hoped, wherever he was, he was happy, hoped he was loved - hoped he was OK.

And Gunn - Gunn had made it to the alley, made it to the final battle … but he never made it beyond that. He shouldn't have asked Gunn to meet them there, he realised now, that alleyway - that final battle - was no place for mortals. It should have been just him, Spike and Illyria - who had all already lived forever and had nothing to lose anyway. But then Gunn would never accept that - he was a warrior - he'd been fighting the good fight since he was 12. Even Buffy had only started at 15. He'd gone out fighting - gone out doing what he loved and making a difference. Like Doyle. Like Wes.

They were gone too soon - but at least their death's had meant something … not like Cordy's and Fred's. The men had died as champions. The universe hadn't cared that Cordy and Fred were champions, and deserved their hero's death, when it came for them. There was comfort - at least - in the way the men had died. There was none in the loss of Cordelia Chase and Winifred Burkle. They had deserved so much better that what the higher powers - the universe - their creator - had in store for them.

Doyle, Connor, Cordy, Fred, Wes, Lorne and Gunn - one by one - they had arrived and they had left. In the most final way possible.

And so he was all alone again. In the intervening years he had made friends - he had lost friends - and there would always be Spike … but no one had ever mattered like those first few. His family. Angel Investigations - they helped the helpless. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his face.

They had had a mission and his friends had given their lives for it. And now here he was, twenty years later, standing in the shadowy, deserted lobby of the Hyperion Hotel. Remembering. It was abandoned - dusty and cobwebbed once more, just like when they had first moved in - and here he was chasing echoes, trying to capture memories and hold onto them. But it was like holding onto water or moonbeams - they trickled through his fingers - the chasm was opening up, and his friends were on the other side. He could not reach them.

It had been twenty years - some days it still felt like yesterday. But really it was two long decades. And here he stood, in the darkness, conjuring up the visions of his past in front of his eyes - willing them to be made flesh, so he could reach out and touch them - just once. He stared around, hearing the whispers of a time gone by.

'_I mean a few throw pillows, what's not to love?' _

'_Ah yes - telekinesis - the power of moving things with one's mind ...that's pretty much it - the power of - moving … I-I'm better with demons, really.'_

'_You call. I come. Loaded for bear, ready for battle… and somethin' else that starts with B.' _

'_Hey big fella - you've gotta be singing here all the time - am I right? Come on - with these acoustics? And the rocket's red glare! … hear that resonance?'_

'_Thank you thank you thank you - you're the best. I have to go try these on. La la la la la la la - new clothes! I have new clothes!'_

'_Angel? I thought I heard company. I came out of my room. Small steps - like you said.'_

'_Hi Dad.' _

And just for a moment, it was like the lobby was lit up - and his friends lived once more. He could see and hear them, watch his own memories like they were imprints on the silver screen - frozen in time but living forever. Just like an old movie. Just like him. But then the vision faded and he was left once again in the dark. Twenty years. Two decades. He couldn't reach out - couldn't touch them. They were all on that other side of that chasm, one way or the other, and it was not time yet for him to join them. He had not finished travelling that rocky path. The longer he lived - the more he feared that path had no ending. He would never again be with his friends. But if he was to honour them - to be worthy of them - to keep standing for everything they had stood for, then he could not stay here in the shadows, torturing himself.

It was strange, unsettling, the way remembering the good times hurt so much more than remembering all the evil he had done. It was a different type of hurt - but much more intense. Dwelling on that loss, however, did no good for anyone - it did not bring his friends back, it did not change the past, did not undo the mistakes and put right the wrongs. It gave no second chances. He had to move on. The good fight was waiting. '_Is that it?' _He thought to himself, as he realised it was time to come back to the present - and leave the shadows of the past where they belonged. '_Am I done?'_

**_The End_**


End file.
